


Moments Lost in Time

by The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer



Series: Moments Lost in Time [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: #GiveTheseDorksAHug2k17, Angst, F/M, Time Travel AU, i guess, light angst anyway, what do i tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10865892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer/pseuds/The_Plot_Bunny_Whisperer
Summary: Waking up to find that their victory is now so much further from them than they could possibly imagine feels almost like defeat. The only consolation is that they’re together — and that maybe they can do things right the first time.





	Moments Lost in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have this thing that I wrote that I don't know how to continue or where to take it but wrote anyway because reasons.
> 
> [i post to @plunniewhisperer first]

She almost cries when she wakes up to see the familiar trap door above her head and the pale pink walls of a room she hasn’t slept in in years. Not wanting to believe quite yet, she reaches for her ears and gasps a dry sob to feel not her cherished earrings but empty lobes. She feels more alone than she ever has before and it’s not until her mother calls up the stairs to remind her that she needs to be up and ready for school that she pulls herself together.

The calendar tacked to her wall has days crossed out in sharp black pen leading to a singular day circled in red. A spark of hope lights briefly within her. It’s the same day, all those years ago, where her life changed forever. It’s this hope alone that allows her to calmly climb downstairs and greet her mother; to act as though her heart isn’t in the process of breaking.

There is only one difference to her morning: there is no old man walking slowly in the crosswalk in need of rescue. (Not that he had ever had need of it in the first place.) This difference makes her heart plummet and her throat constrict, but she numbs the feeling and continues on her way.

She goes through the motions as if she’s in a play and is merely following a script. However, it’s not one she can remember the lines to, so she’s forced to improvise and somehow manages to muddle her way through regardless, even though her mind and heart is mess. Over a decade of having to think and plan and perform under pressure is likely the only thing keeping her from breaking, she thinks, and she’s strangely grateful for it. 

She very carefully does not look down at the empty seat in front of her. If she does, that strenuous hold she has on her composure will shatter like so much spun glass and she’s not sure if she’ll be able to pick up the pieces if it does. Instead, she pays careful attention to her teacher and the girl to her left, her best friend that she’s meeting for the first time again, and ignores the scathing glares from her childhood bully, who is furious for having been denied the seat she wanted.

(Perhaps it’s a little immature and a little petty, but this seat has always been hers, damnit, and so is— 

No, she can’t think about him, not yet. Not until she’s sure.)

(This is going to be the longest three hours of her life.)

The angry roar of Ivan’s akumatized form is almost a relief when it happens. Her stomach is flipping in on itself and her heart is likely to beat out of her chest it’s racing so fast. She almost doesn’t let Alya drag her to the watch the security footage, but she knows Alya and how tenacious she can be when she’s curious about something, and if she just ran off now, her friend would remember it and be curious enough to ask about it later. So she waits until Alya has run off herself before sprinting as fast as she can for home.

The elegant lacquered box is exactly where she remembers it had once been, and the force of her relief makes her lightheaded, causing her to collapse into her computer chair. With a deep breath and trembling fingers, she opens it. A tiny pink form barrels into her chest, emerging from the resulting light show with a cry of her name.

“Marinette! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“T-tikki….” Her breath hitches, hands raising to gently cup around one of her dearest friends and one of the only two beings that know her better than she knows herself. “Tikki. You remember.”

“Of course I do, Marinette.” Tikki smiles at her with gentle understanding, patting her collarbone soothingly. “Our bond is one forged of powerful magic, and not one so easily broken; even by another Miraculous.”

“I’m glad.” Marinette’s smile is a tremulous thing, more full of relief than happiness, but it’s there. Then she bites her lip, looking out of the window with distant eyes. “Do you think… do you think that maybe he….” Tikki answers her with an encouraging smile, floating out of her hands to hover in front of her.

“There’s only one way to find out.” 

With a soft snap that sounds like the drumbeats of destiny, she reverently slips her Miraculous into her ears and intones three words that’s she’s spoken hundreds of times before. “Tikki, spots on!” 

The tingle of transformation overcomes her. Her breath lets out in a rush as she feels her civilian clothes melt away into a skin-tight suit that she doesn’t have to look at to know is bright red with black spots, and in an instant she’s Ladybug once again. She takes a moment to revel in the feeling before she hears her mother’s voice at the bottom of the stairs, and with quiet movements that are long ingrained, she jumps up to her loft and unlatches the door to her balcony before climbing out. She closes it with a gentle snick just as she hears the door into her room open and her mother call her name, releasing a sigh of relief at the fortunate timing. She turns, reaching for her yoyo, but stops short at the sight that meets her.

She doesn’t remember everything about this day, not entirely, but there are parts of it that she couldn’t forget if she tried. Befriending Alya. Receiving her Miraculous. Meeting Tikki. Becoming a superhero. Her first akuma battle. (Her first failure.) 

Above all of them there is one memory that shines brightest. It is the moment she first looks into the supernaturally bright green eyes of her partner after having literally fallen from the sky on top of him, entangling them both in her yoyo string. Meeting the one person she could trust with all that she is, the only one she wanted at her back and at her side.

Of all the moments that have happened today, this is the one that she, personally, could not in any way have have effected, the only one she couldn’t change. Last time, she was several blocks away when she fell out of the sky on top of him; this time, he stands before her on her balcony, his eyes locked on her, desperate and hopeful. There’s only one thing this could mean and she all but throws herself at him. 

As always, he meets her halfway.

“ _Chaton_.”

“I’m here, Bug. I’m here.”

It’s probably the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard.

-

He wakes to a cold bed and an empty room that he hasn’t seen in years. It takes him longer than it should to process, but when he does, he dives for his computer chair and curses a blue streak that would have seen him grounded and piled with double the workload he remembers once having if he’d been heard. 

He spends long moments staring at his hands; his fingers are slimmer, paler, not as calloused as he knew they were supposed to be. His eyes trace the empty spaces where once were two rings that meant everything to him and the truth of it finally hits him like a freight train, knocking the breath from his lungs and settling in his heart in something like despair.

He doesn’t allow himself to wallow in it, for all that he wishes to simply curl back up in bed and bury himself under the covers. It would likely only make him feel worse and make his new reality feel a bit too much like defeat. Instead, he double-checks the date and the time and breathes deeply, slowly, and quickly prepares for a day of school he knows he won’t actually be able to begin.

Sneaking out of the house feels like child’s play, and he laughs somewhat bitterly as he remembers once thinking it to be the most exciting thing he’d ever done. He follows the same path he had once before and makes a mental note to exercise more because he’s already feeling winded. Just like before, however, he barely reaches the steps into school when Nathalie arrives to stop him. 

Despite knowing the outcome, he attempts to argue with her anyway. Without his permission, his eyes stray behind her; this time, however, there is no old man on the ground reaching helplessly for his cane. He swallows his panic and schools his face into into a carefully calculated expression of disappointment, allowing Gorilla and Nathalie to guide him back to the car.

He’s not quite sure how he manages to go through the rest of his morning without revealing the whirlwind his thoughts have become. Modeling takes a certain degree of acting skill, however, so perhaps it is that which keeps him from making any stupid mistakes that would make Nathalie or his father suspicious. He hopes anything that does slip through can be attributed to disappointment over his failed “escape attempt”. The last thing he needs are questions and the last thing he wants are more lectures that he is too old, at least mentally, to receive.

He all but flies to his room when Nathalie finally dismisses him, heart in his throat as he slips into his room and nears his coffee table. The fear that filled him a few hours earlier from the lack of a certain defining presence bursts like a popped balloon, leaving him almost numb from its sudden loss when he sees a very familiar jewelry box waiting for him. Joy is eager to take its place however, and he flips the lid open, unable to keep the wide grin from his face at the resulting light show.

“ _Finally_ ,” Plagg grumbles, stretching lazily as the light fades. “You took _forever_. I’m _hungry_.” Despite his words, there is a clear undercurrent of relief and grudging affection, and the kwami nuzzles into his neck like a needy kitten. It’s all the answer Adrien needs, and knowing that his partner remembers him, remembers a future that no longer exists, makes everything so much more bearable than it had been not even five minutes earlier and he laughs. 

(If his laugh is tinged with a touch of hysteria, neither make mention of it.)

“Do you think this is reversible?” he asks later, after his father’s executive assistant has come and gone with his order from the kitchen and Plagg is just about finished stuffing himself with an entire wheel of Camembert.

“I don’t think so,” the ancient deity answers with a satisfied sigh, patting his full belly. “Unlike the time with Timebreaker, the akuma didn’t go into the past itself, it just sent you there. Because it didn’t follow you, there’s no akuma to purify, and also no Lucky Charm to invoke a Miraculous Cure that would return us to our original time. You would have to talk to the Great Guardian to be sure, though. He would have a better answer for us.”

Adrien’s brow furrows, worry twisting in his gut anew. The mention of lucky charms reminds him of the other detail he had been keeping very carefully buried in the back of his mind. He remembers that the akuma’s attack had hit both himself and his Lady at the same time, but that wasn’t a guarantee they had been sent _back_ to the same time. Just the though that his beautiful, wonderful Lady, the love of his life, wouldn’t be with him, wouldn’t remember him — even worse, that she would be stuck in a different time, alone but for Tikki, with a Chat Noir that _wasn’t him_ — made his heart constrict with dread.

Even if he had wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself jumping up and stalking towards his window, his transformation rippling over him before he was even halfway there. Within moments, he is zipping through the Paris skyline, leaping over the rooftops with almost reckless abandon, likely leaving several startled people in his wake as he raced past. It isn’t long before he lands softly on a familiar balcony, the sudden surge of sweet nostalgia serving to bring a bit of clarity and control back to him.

He hesitates for several moments, unsure what to do. Should he wait? Should he knock? Did she even remember him? How would she react to seeing him if she didn’t? He didn’t want to scare her; he just needed to _know._

Before he can decide, the trap door opens silently. A familiar red-clad figure leaps out just as quiet, gently closing the door with a relieved sigh. He can’t help himself for staring, drinking her in as though she were the last oasis in a desert, and he can’t imagine how he must look right now. 

He freezes when she turns and sees him, unable to even breathe as he stares into the same eyes that he has fallen asleep and woken up to for nearly a decade. Her eyes widen, not in shock or fear but _remembrance_ and _relief_ , and everything he’s feeling is so jumbled up and euphoric that’s he’s dizzy from it.

She reaches for him, and as he has always done and will always do, he meets her halfway.

“ _Chaton_.” Never has that word sounded so wonderful. He pulls her tighter to him, all but fusing them together, and feels no embarrassment at all because of how hard he’s shaking, because she’s trembling just as much.

“I’m here, Bug. I’m here.” 

_Forever. Always. No matter what._ It remains unspoken, but it wasn’t necessary anyway. He knows she had never doubted the truth of them.


End file.
